Page 124 of Defiant Beta

I snatch it off him and fling it across the bathroom, turning my face away as more water slides down my cheeks.

“Della?” A new, softer note in his voice makes me shove him away when he switches off the water and reaches for me.

“Fuck off.”

He won’t go away, and I can’t swallow more tears. They want to drown me.

I shove him, and when that isn’t enough, I yell at him.

He doesn’t seem to notice my eyes filling with tears when he pulls me close and wraps his arms around me, his fingers careful not to brush against the healing scars on my back.

Suddenly, I’m no longer shoving him away. I’m sobbing as I grip his waterlogged shirt while he holds me against his chest.

The next time he comes at me with a towel, I don’t fling it across the room.

He picks me up and carries me into the bedroom, wrapped in a big fluffy white towel.

While I was busy falling apart, someone turned on a bedside lamp, made my bed with fresh sheets, and left a clean pair of white satin pajamas alongside a pair of men's sweatpants and a T-shirt.

The pajamas aren’t familiar, but they look like they’ll fit me.

Vincent sets me down on the side of the freshly made bed. “You shouldn’t sleep in wet clothes. I’ll get changed in the bathroom, and you get changed here. Do you need help?”

I must be in shock not to ask why he needs to get changed in my bathroom instead of his bedroom.

I shake my head, and he picks up the men's sweats, walks into the bathroom, and closes the door behind him. After a moment, I stand up and quickly strip out of my soaked clothesand into the warm, dry pajamas. I fling the wet clothes into a corner to deal with when I care more.

“Can I come in?” Vincent asks as I slip into bed.

I thought he’d be changed sooner than me, but he must have taken his time. “I’m dressed.”

He looks different in sweats rather than smart business attire. Relaxed and homey. His dark hair is damp and tousled. Mine must be too, since I didn’t bother with a brush, towel-drying my hair as best I could.

I’m not sure what to think when he sits beside me on the bed, his back against the headboard, and picks up a file from the other nightstand.

I observe him for a moment, one hand tucked under my pillow on a bed with sheets that smell like a fresh spring day. “Isn’t it bad for your eyes to be reading dull papers with a single lamp like that?”

He turns a page. “Probably.”

Watching him is relaxing in a strange, unidentifiable way. “Who changed my sheets?”

“Levi.”

“Why not Xavier?”

He looks at me. “Have you seen Xavier’s bed?”

I recall the unmade bed and the unfolded clothes on top of his dresser. “It was Levi.”

He resumes reading.

“I could have done it if you’d told me where you keep the linen,” I say.

“Now you don’t have to.”

“And you didn’t have to cook or bring me food.”

“I know.”

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